


Experimentation For the Sake of It

by MonsterParade



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Dubious Consent, Mildly Dubious Consent, Other, Reader is dfab, but just tread carefully, like it starts off extremely dubious but then it warms up properly, no one is hurt at all and the reader actually has a good time, no pronouns mentioned, please read carefully if that triggers you!, science as an excuse for sex, this is NOT a healthy dynamic though, yes yes my finger up your snatch is for SCIENCE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 03:05:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17417855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonsterParade/pseuds/MonsterParade
Summary: Alternate title: Shockwave's Got it Bad and Doesn't Know How to Express His Feelings in a Remotely Healthy Way





	Experimentation For the Sake of It

**Author's Note:**

> Written, with love, as an art/fic trade for cyanideoreo! This smut is dubcon, folks, so please be careful whilst perusing if that triggers you! Also, I wrote this all in one go and the only person who proof-read it was me, so let me know if you see anything that needs correcting! Cheers!!

Shockwave is staring at you again.  
  
His optical situation being what it is, he unfortunately has no choice but to do so on a regular day, and is usually pretty good at keeping himself so immersed in his work that you hardly have to deal with his unblinking gaze. But it’s been weird and different lately.  
  
He has been capital ‘S’ _staring_ , hovering above you like the great red eye of Sauron at all hours of the day for reasons you can’t begin to comprehend. It’s worse than being stared at by something made of flesh; like you’d noted previously, he doesn't blink, but there is also a _strange_ energy that comes off of him when he’s watching you that makes all the hair on your body stand on end. Laser focused, static electricity.  
  
And, unlike most humans, _he_ doesn’t look away when you catch him in the act. You either have to pretend not to see him, or get caught in a staring contest so intensely awkward that it makes sweat start to bead on your neck.  
  
You keep your head down low and just hope that he’s not planning something grotesquely horrible for you in that behemoth metal head of his.  
______  
  
“Subject O-430,” Shockwave begins, shattering the relative silence of the lab out of nowhere with his shocking baritone and making you jump about a foot in the air in surprise. You whirl around, your arms loaded down with papers, and meet his optic for a single moment before you let your gaze skitter away to the floor.  
  
“Uh- yes? Sir?”  
  
He knows your name. He knows everything about you- name, family tree, blood type, genetic predispositions- but he still insists on using that impersonal label he’d assigned you ages ago, despite any and all insistence to the contrary. Probably to make sure you remember how little you matter here, you’d imagine.  
  
“I have some tests I’d like to run.” Shockwave continues. It’s not a question, and it’s certainly not a request; it’s an order barely disguised as a statement, and you know well enough to follow it lest he _force_ you instead, in a very painful way. Those days, those days are _long_ past.  
  
You don’t resist him anymore.  
  
You duck your head in acknowledgement instead, and Shockwave tilts his helm towards your least-favorite fixture in the entire lab, his optic scanning over the datapad in his good hand while you grimace.   
  
The best way to describe _that_ piece of equipment would be a _dissection table_ , human-sized and just for you. You’ve already been on it a few times before, and while he’s never gone quite so far as to actually _cut you open_ while you’re there, nothing good has ever happened on that table and you live in _fear_ of the day you become the equivalent of those frogs in your old fifth-grade science room.  
  
You only allow yourself a moment’s hesitation before you put your papers down, though, and approach Shockwave’s pedes to let him lift you up onto it. He lets you climb onto his hand and deposits you on the table without any fanfare.  
  
You look around nervously, clasping your hands together in front of you and hoping against hope that he just wants to draw some blood again.  
  
“...Sir?” you prompt, after you’ve stood there for a minute without any activity. Shockwave looks back up at you from his datapad, inscrutable as ever, and the only way you can tell you have his attention at all is in the minute perk of his audial fins.  
  
“Yes. Strip.”  
  
“Ex-- _excuse_ me?”  
  
Those fins pin back against his helm at your outburst, and you wish you could pull your words back into your mouth as he cooly repeats,  
  
“Remove your fabric coverings, Subject O-430. The experiments cannot proceed until you comply.”  
  
Your expression twists in discomfort. This is...a _new_ one, an unfortunate new wrinkle in the base level of anxiety you’ve adjusted to over your time here. Every time you’ve gotten the chance to change your clothes onboard this ship, you’ve done so very hastily in the corner of your “habitat” (your _habitat_ is just a glorified cage) and Shockwave has never expressed interest in looking. You _definitely_ don’t think you want to be naked in front of him.  
  
“...Shockwave, sir...um, with all due respect, is that...entirely necessary?” you ask meekly, pulling your lab coat a little more tightly around you. Shockwave looks at you with all the emotion of the stoplight he resembles and just barely inclines his head.  
  
“Yes. This is my final request. Do it or I will do it for you.”  
  
 _That_ is enough to make you shuck your coat off without further complaints. The only thing with the potential to be worse than being nude in front of Shockwave would be having _him_ strip you down to it. You grit your teeth behind your closed lips and obediently remove your clothes for him, leaving them in a pile of fabric on the corner of the dissection table. As a reflex, you even drape your tee shirt over your underwear, because the Decepticon scientist _surely_ is going to have any kind of interest in your undergarments.  
  
You stand there on cold metal, bare as the day you were born, and curl in on yourself, mortified and self-conscious.  
  
Shockwave’s audial fins slowly incline towards you once again.  
  
“We may proceed.”  
_____________  
  
Shockwave leans over you. The dissection table is already about at height with his chest, so when he dips his head down towards you now it leaves you looking him directly in the eye, and you flinch just a little bit.  
  
You’re not comfortable. You’re so far from comfortable. You attempt to discreetly cross your arms over your chest to try and preserve at least a little modesty, but almost immediately after you do Shockwave raises a servo and moves your hands away again, the cool metal of him just brushing your breasts and making you go ramrod straight.  
  
“Keep your hands at your sides.“  
  
Your mouth feels horribly dry all of a sudden and all you can manage is a nod.  
  
At first, all Shockwave does is tests concerning your limbs; the extension of your arms, your legs, feeling at the joints of them with the tips of his fingers, manipulating you like a doll and pausing every so often to enter something into his datapad while you miserably allow him to handle you. It’s mortifying, but at least you can be glad that it isn’t something painful this time.  
  
At least, that’s what you think up until Shockwave presses his index finger to your bare stomach and trails it upwards to your chest, and then your train of thought goes off the rails and you have to desperately force yourself not to move away.  
  
You’ve been in here...how _long_ have you been in here? Months? Years? You have no way of keeping track of the time on the Nemesis, can no longer guess what day of the week or what month it is on Earth, and your point is that you’ve been up here for _so_ long with no substantial contact that the bizarrely gentle touch of Shockwave’s servo makes you shiver with something that is _not_ completely discomfort.  
  
And that does not bode well at _all_.  
  
Shockwave presses the pad of that finger to your breast, traces along the underside of it and then up over your nipple, and you cast your gaze aside and stare intently at the floor far below in horror at yourself and the situation.  
  
Shockwave repeats the same treatment with your other breast, and you can feel your face heating up as he makes a single sound, a single, solitary, “ _Hm_ ,” as your nipples perk up under the attention.  
  
You want to sink into the floor. You want to combust on the spot and stop having this experience immediately. There is no God.  
  
“Shockwave,” you protest weakly, your voice sounding reedy even to your own ears, but the mech moves his hand up to your mouth to silence you and rests the tip of a dulled claw against your lips, the weight of his stare like a heavy blanket on your skin.  
  
“Quiet,” he warns you, shifting his servo so that his index and middle finger are resting under your chin, tipping your head up, “Open your mouth.”  
  
You groan with dismay in the back of your throat, but comply. You’re not sure what exactly you’re expecting him to do, but-- but whatever it was, it did not prepare you for Shockwave to press the warming metal of his thumb straight into your mouth up to the first knuckle, which is exactly what he does. You nearly choke in your shock.  
  
This feels way, _way_ too intimate, in a way that makes your skin prickle. Shockwave himself is deathly silent save for the standard muted whirring of the mechanics that make up his internals, and that leaves you nothing to focus on but the gleam of his optic and the metal tang as he drags his thumb across your tongue, probing.  
  
You feel violated, trying to keep up a brave facade while the mech above you explores the inside of your mouth, rubbing against the insides of your cheeks and making them bulge out. You also feel something that you can only label as _interest_ , just the barest hints of it, beginning in your gut, which you try and fail to stamp out on the grounds that that’s fucking insane. You are not into this. You cannot be into this!  
  
Shockwave presses his claw down against the back of your tongue, forcing you to flatten it to avoid being speared, and you nearly gag under the pressure. He then slowly drags his thumb back out,  
  
and back in, and back out--  
  
It’s pure reflex that sends you grabbing at his wrist as you realize what’s happening. You don’t know what in god’s name is happening in his processor right now, but his eye is locked on yours with a feverish intensity as he begins to essentially _finger-fuck_ your mouth, your protests coming out as a moan as you weakly try to pull away from him.  
  
You can’t remember a time you’ve ever been so confused before-- Shockwave is a _robot_. A giant, alien, war-mongering, emotionless machine, who, up until this exact moment, you had firmly believed to be completely incapable of anything resembling sexual interest, and yet. Here you are now, forced to drool around his thumb because he _won’t let up_ , and there’s no outward change to him but you know, you _know_ he’s somehow getting off on this.  
  
“ _Mmmph_!” you protest, as the smooth curve of his claw rubs against your soft palette. You’re trying desperately to control your body’s reactions to the indecent treatment, but that’s not something you have much conscious reign over and you feel yourself heating up in a traitorous way, you breath coming quick in your chest.  
  
“Do not make me restrain you,” Shockwave warns you, and apparently he catches the way you twitch in response to his words, because his audial fins swivel out and forward in the most obvious display of emotion you’ve seen from him yet, like the ears of an animal intent upon something.  
  
You stare back up at him with your eyes half-lidded, sighing with relief as he finally slows the motions of his thumb and pulls it free of your mouth with a ‘pop’. Saliva shines on your lips and on its surface, and you avert your eyes again as Shockwave studies it.  
  
You shift in place. You’re wondering just how far he intends to go with this; he doesn’t seem like he’s planning on _hurting_ you, no matter how creepy he’s been, and you’d be lying to yourself if you denied that there was a certain aesthetic appeal to his gargantuan frame. It’s been so long since you’ve been touched in any pleasant context, that you’re starting to think you almost wouldn’t _mind_ if this thing...escalated.  
  
“You are aroused,” Shockwave notes, snapping your attention back to him with his monotone statement. He sounds just the slightest bit interested, and his finials are still fanned out towards you, but aside from that he gives no clues as to his opinions on the discovery. You open your mouth to speak, snap it shut, and hide your face behind your hands, skin flushing.  
  
Yeah, okay, you are. You’ve been wet between your legs since Shockwave first forced his finger into your mouth, deny it as you might, and while you’re not sure how _he_ can tell from where he is you don’t attempt to correct him, choosing instead to squash your thighs together like that will hide it. You’re only fighting a losing battle.  
  
You’re allowed about half a minute to stew in mortification before your hands are pushed away from your face again and Shockwave re-introduces himself to your field of vision. He watches you quietly, his frame humming.  
  
“The second test can begin.” he says, and this time when he lays his hand on you and smooths it down your stomach, you don’t fight him, allowing him to drag his index finger down to the crux of your thighs to feel the slick that has gathered there. You hesitantly brace your hands against his forearm, and shift your legs apart to let him touch.  
  
Shockwave’s metal body has been gradually warming up since he’d first begun these ‘tests’, but against your own living heat he feels almost cool enough to startle as he first touches you, stroking the blunt end of his claw through the lips of your sex with his helm tilted almost thoughtfully. You’re wet enough that he slides against you easily, which is both helpful and embarrassing.  
  
“Our species are not as dissimilar as I had anticipated,” he muses aloud, the length of his single index finger enough to cover your pussy in its entirety in the curve of it. “I would go so far as to guess that your overloads will be similar to a Cybertronian’s as well.”  
  
As he speaks, he grinds his finger against you in a simple back-and-forth motion, already well-acquainted with your body’s fragility and carefully putting an amount of pressure on you that manages to be pleasurable instead of crushing. It makes you gasp in surprise, your hips jerking forward before you can stop them.  
  
You have nothing to say to him, nothing you _can_ say in this situation, so you just let your head hang forward and brace your weight on him while he rocks his servo against you, smearing slick against the metal.  
  
Despite all likelihood, it doesn’t hurt. It feels _good_. Particularly when he shifts his digit a little and draws back, unerringly, to find your clit, rubbing small circles that make you whimper and scrunch your eyes closed as sudden heat skates up and down your spine. The wet noises of his fingering you seem ridiculously loud in the silence of the lab.  
  
You huff a few heavy breaths and further spread your legs, biting down on your lip.  
  
And finally, something changes in _Shockwave_ \-- a strange rumbling kicks up from somewhere in his chassis, and you lift your head, bleary-eyed, to look for the source of the sound, Shockwave himself never faltering as he rubs your labia between the tip of thumb and forefinger.  
  
It takes you a long minute to identify the new sound as Shockwave’s fans spinning, the ones set into the sides of his chest casting a sudden breeze over your over-warm skin as they click on.  
  
You just blink up at him-- this means nothing to you. It’s a reaction, but you haven’t the foggiest idea of what _kind_ , which doesn’t help you at all in parsing him. Your best guess is that he’s like your old laptop back home, and has gotten a little warm himself and is attempting to cool off.  
  
The oddness of it even surprises speech out of you, “You okay?”, to which Shockwave resets his optic in a way he’d once explained was similar to blinking.  
  
“I am...unaffected,” he replies, and those fans of his kick up a notch. He distracts you from further questioning by probing between your legs until he finds your entrance, and when he presses lightly with the very end of a claw you stiffen up again, squeaking in surprise and squirming.  
  
“Wait! N-no, no,” you plead, feeling him, much to your shock, hesitate. “Claws! You can’t...!”  
  
“They are dull. I will be careful,” he says. “Relax your body, or there will be pain.”  
  
Since he seems set on this path, you have little choice but to cling to his arm and forcefully relax yourself as he instructs you to, the knuckle of his forefinger bumping against your clit as his middle finger nudges into you, helped along by your arousal.  
  
And it turns out that your fears were, for once, actually for naught-- his claw is not sharp enough to cut with how carefully he’s moving, and the tapered end of it helps to open you gradually as he works his finger into your body, once again only up to the first knuckle. The stretch stings a little from its suddenness, but your responding gasp is from nothing but pleasure.  
  
You haven’t masturbated since you’ve arrived on the Nemesis, and it’s been even longer since you’ve had anything in you but your own fingers. The foreign stretch of him, machine-warm and humming, catches you off-guard, and you whimper helplessly into his wrist while he gradually fingers you open with a wet squelching sound.  
  
“Your heart rate is very high,” he tells you, deliberately rubbing his knuckle over your clit as he speaks. “Are you approaching overload?”  
  
“Wha-- what?”  
  
Your brain is so foggy that you’re having trouble listening to him properly, thoroughly distracted by his finger stretching you open and dragging against your inner walls in a way that makes your hips buck. He crooks his finger and makes a strange sound, his optic dimming as he runs what you can tell on sight is an Internet search for the appropriate terms-- you’ve seen him do this a few times in the past, and are impressed every time.  
  
“Are you going to cum?” he tries again, his voice sounding a little stilted around the foreign terminology. Hearing those words out of Shockwave’s vocalizer is so baffling that you laugh before you can help yourself, and if you didn’t know better you’d say it surprises him, his movements faltering for just a moment.  
  
“ _Ah_ \- soon,” you finally manage to reply. You’re not quite there yet, but your legs are starting to shake and have difficulty holding you up, and your skin is covered in a sheen of sweat, pleasure coiling in your belly in a liquid heat. You’re preoccupied enough that you’re not even embarrassed, determined now to take whatever positive contact he’ll give you for as long as he’ll give it to you.  
  
Shockwave looks at you with a critical optic.  
  
There are a few beats of silence, the wet sounds of fucking, and then without any warning Shockwave’s massive internal engine revs, so loudly this close-up that you nearly jump out of your skin. The vibrations from that engine thrum through Shockwave’s frame with force, including the hand he has working between your legs, and the effect is instantaneous-- you squeal, your toes curling as the sudden spike of pleasure nearly knocks you sideways.  
  
“ _Fuck!_ ”  
  
“I repeat- are you approaching overload?”  
  
“Oh god- oh god, please please _please_ ,” you breathe, unable to form a proper reply as you buck against his hand and try to fuck yourself on his digit as best you can, the vibrations buffeting you with pleasure.  
  
“Overload imminent?”  
  
Shockwave takes the moment to adjust his motions from a slow rocking to a proper, steady fucking, crooking his finger on every outward pull to create a stretch and a pressure that has you seeing stars, and all you can do is grind yourself against his hand in clumsy little thrusts as a familiar stark heat crawls up the base of your spine, your entire body tensing.  
  
“Yes, _yes, Shockwave,_ I’m gonna-- _Shock_ \--”  
  
You cum around his finger with a pathetic whimper, your pussy clenching down on him so hard that he’s nearly forced to a stop. He lets you ride it out instead, dragging his knuckle against your clit to draw your orgasm out for as long as possible, until it’s almost unbearable. He watches you shake and cry until you’re properly, thoroughly spent, and then he finally relents, not even waiting for you to catch your breath before he’s pulling his digit out of you with a wet schlicking sound. His engine quiets down once more.  
  
You remain sprawled across his palm and wrist, simply, breathlessly, stunned.  
  
“...Initial test successful.” he eventually says, shifting you off of his hand so you can lay boneless on the examination table. He holds his hand up to the light to examine it, rubbing your arousal between his fingers, and you blink away the spots in your vision to stare up at him, wondering if you can remember how to walk again.  
  
“Results satisfactory. Further testing required. Subject O-430, return to your habitat for the day-- experimentation will continue next cycle,” he says, more to himself than to you. You weakly nod your head and continue to lie there in a heap, just wanting to bask in the afterglow.  
  
No telling what tomorrow will bring-- but god willing, it will be more of the same.


End file.
